Harry Potter And The Beautiful Lovemaking
by J. Jamjob
Summary: Draco gives Harry a hard time, but this time, he looks a bit... pale. This is probably the best story ever, with the possible exception of other stories I might write in the future. I love you.


Harry Potter And The Beautiful Lovemaking

The day should have been like any other. While not spectacularly blue, the sky was well enough, with the occasional cloud only hinting further at normalcy. A faint breeze swept through town, picking up specks of dirt and a torn piece of paper, lifting them through the cobblestone streets and the around the ankles of a passerby. A few owls declared their presence from a rooftop; how they had escaped was a mystery, but it was well established that their town was now their collective owner. It was near evening, as evidenced by the sounding of a bell, echoing througshout the narrow bends of the old town. Five tolls of the bell, and sun had some confirmation to begin its daily retreat. The ins and outs of the day were so contently usual, one might not have noticed that among the street's witches and wizard was no other than Harry Potter.

Harry walked through the throng of customers along Diagon Alley, head held low and hands stuffed into his pockets. His crimson robe rippled behind him, giving off a bit more flair than he would have liked at the moment. It was not unusual for Harry to be periodically stopped by a familiar or not-so-familiar face, bombarding him with questions and invitations to chat over tea. Of all the thoughts and questions running through his own mind, the general populace always seemed to have more – and far too often, he was at the center of them. He dodged a couple of first years who were scampering off to get their owls and wands and headed into The Leakey Cauldron, needing to sit down. He surveyed the room out of habit, searching for anyone or anything that could intimate trouble. Finding none, he chose an acceptable seat that was mostly out of the way save for the nearby figure who looked too lonely to be of any trouble. Harry swept his cloak out of the way and sat down, waving dismissively at the bartender's advance; he was not the sort to drink alone.

Two seats down, a wizard—judging from his robes—lifted the corner of his hood to get a decent look at Harry. Everyone else was too preoccupied, boisterous, or somber to give Harry the time of day – unless he asked for it, of course. As daylight began to dissipate, the candles inside the dimly lit room seemed to burn brighter, not only compensating for the time but welcoming the evening with exuberance. Even the peripheral conversations seemed to grow louder, tales of backfired spells and heated romance (or was it the other way around?) flooding the atmosphere. Only through a bit of luck and circumstance did Harry manage to catch words from the wizard nearby.

"Didn't think you were the drinking type."

At first, it didn't register. Harry needed to replay the conversations in his mind before realizing the solitary question directed toward him. He sat up straighter, looking at the cloaked figure and tilting his head just enough to catch a glimpse of pale skin beneath the hood.

"I don't have a drink…" Harry answered cautiously, almost questioning his response. His first thought was that he hadn't seen Seamus in weeks, perhaps months. It wouldn't be out of the question to find him in the Cauldron. But jumping to conclusions was no longer his strong point.

"Maybe you should." The voice was strikingly familiar now, perhaps recognizable on its own, without the giveaway that followed. "Might help you fit in a little better, Potter."

Something inside Harry's stomach churned. Even without its usual sardonic bite, the way Draco said _Potter_ always seemed like his was spitting it out. Even now, a year after all had been said and done, every encounter with Draco was like seeing a Dementor. A relentless, painful shade of his past that remained dark no matter how many shades of grey transpired. He couldn't bring himself to friendly terms with the boy, but his equally frustrating morals would not allow for silence either. Searching for a response, Harry's gaze wandered along the bartop, spotting the drink that filled Draco's goblet. Luckily, it was just odd enough to make for conversation.

"That's, uh…" Harry searched for the right words that would avoid insult, as that was the very last thing he needed, "…an interesting drink you have, Draco." It looked like a fine red wine, which seemed strangely out of place in a goblet.

Just a few years ago, such appeasement would have resulted in Harry wearing the drink, or worse. Thankfully, of every transfiguration that took place over the years, Draco's attitude was a relatively positive change. That is to say, he was no longer entirely intolerable. He reached up to sweep the hood off, his signature platinum colored hair a bit tussled from wearing it constantly. He finally turned to face Harry, grey eyes searching Harry's, as if seeking the sincerity of his words. He had grown, emotionally and physically, more than most over the years; his face hardened and angular. No longer was his hair parted and combed, but left to grow out on its own, almost hanging down over his eyes. If the candlelight weren't so surreal, Harry might say that Draco had looked even paler than he once did.

"Right, then." Draco said quickly, downing the rest of his drink and getting up. He pulled the hood of his cloak back over his head, leaving tendrils of strikingly blonde hair to stick out from underneath. "I'll see you later."

And with that, Draco moved out into the darkening streets, a shadow among an otherwise indistinguishable crowd. Harry was left alone at the bar, mulling over what had transpired. For Draco to act so abruptly and apathetically was not unusual. Still, something seemed to bother him beyond the mere presence of Harry, which was Draco's typical source of grief. This would have to be one of many items to remember and perhaps follow-up on. Such was the work of an Auror, no matter how personal or unnerving the matter might be.

The piercing sound of rapping on wood resounded through the apartment. There were not many rooms to speak of, and as such, there was no ignoring someone's knocking at the door. A solitary candle flickered on the coffee table, illuminating just enough light for Harry to see his way around. It was past midnight, and far too late for this sort of thing. Rolling out of bed with a grunt of reluctance, Harry slipped his night robe on and head toward the door. Purely for comfort, the silk of the robe provided little in the way of protection or flair, though his initials had been embroidered on the back, courtesy of Ginny. The knock sounded again, forcing Harry's interest to pique. Ron knew that weekday nights were out of the question, and anyone else would either have to be dying or insane to find him at this time. He grabbed the doorknob and swung open the old wooden door, narrowing his eyes to see through the night's unyielding darkness. When his eyes finally adjusted, his surprise chased away any fatigue that would have been left in him.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Harry demanded.

"I told you I'd see you later." Draco retorted, smug as ever. He was still wearing his cloak from earlier in the evening, though the hood was down and something about him seemed more kempt and prepared.

Harry just stared blankly, not at all in the mood for these sorts of games. A cold breeze slipped into his apartment, sending a chill up his spine beneath the thinness of his robe. Draco seemed to be examining him, measuring him up. This was not the sort of follow-up Harry had anticipated, and he was likewise uninterested in hearing whatever Draco had to say. The boys stood there in silence, neither resolved to address the matter at hand … if there was any to speak of. What seemed like minutes passed before Draco cleared his throat, giving the faintest of a smile – perhaps more eerie than his usual dreariness.

"Well, aren't you going to invite me in?"

"You still haven't told me what you're doing here." Harry demanded. Despite his clear agitation Draco remained calm and almost amused. It was another unnerving length of time before any true answered were given, or rather, alluded to.

"I'm afflicted with a curse, Harry."

He looked well enough, save for that dreadfully pale complexion.

"What? Wait, you called me Har—"

"Have you ever heard of _Sanguis Maledictus_?" Draco interrupted, seemingly well practiced in that term, the words rolling off his tongue as if they were his name.

Harry did not respond immediately. He let the words sink in, searching his knowledge of curses and spells in general for something that might ring a bell. Though it was an unfamiliar name in and of itself, the terminology was not altogether alien. He focused back on Draco, though his mind still wandered meticulously.

"No, I … I don't think … Wait." Harry said decisively. "Sanguis? Is that like blood?"

No sooner could Harry finish his thought than Draco leap forward, holding Harry against the wall forcefully. In one fluid movement that seemed unreal, Draco pushed Harry's head to the side. Harry instinctively reached for his wand, though it was sitting conveniently on the coffee table next to the candle, now out of sight. Before he could even attempt to utter a spell or at least understand what was happening, he felt a profoundly sharp pain surge through his body. Though he couldn't see what was happening, he knew his neck had been punctured, and where he expected to feel the blood pour out, there was only a bright, warm sensation. Lifting his hand toward Draco's head, he realized that the boy was effectively drinking his blood, and quickly at that. Harry wanted to cry out, to utter a spell, but the world was faded from his sight, his vision blurred and the world blackened. All he could feel was the warmth, now more of a burning sensation, emitted against his neck, and the quiet sounds of Draco sucking at his flesh. Time would stand still until Harry could regain his senses, or for that matter, if he would.

Harry awoke slowly, groaning from a slight headache and the feeling of something stinging at his neck. It was not long before he recalled what had happened minutes before, but he felt entirely too weak to move.

"You… attacked me…" Harry started with the obvious. Draco knelt across from him, only a foot away, grinning down at the boy he had finally bested, albeit in a different sense. His fangs were extended as he licked remnants of Harry's blood off of them. He was far too busy enjoying the taste and sensation of Harry as a meal to respond immediately.

"I'm sorry, does it hurt?" Draco cooed, as if mocking the wounded boy on the ground. Harry lifted a hand to his neck, feeling two small puncture marks, though the bleeding had stopped entirely. It still stung, however, forcing him to wince. Draco moved closer, getting onto his hands and knees as he crawled over Harry's defeated body, the silk robe exposing his front entirely.

"Let me help," Draco continued, "I'll make it all better." And with that, he lowered his head to where he'd bit Harry earlier. Harry bent his knees, ready to escape, but was stunned as he felt no bite, or even draining; instead, Draco was placing tender kisses over and along his neck. It had a similarly warm sensation as before, but now a shiver traveled up Harry's spine and he could not help but let out a gentle moan. Draco smiled appreciatively.

"Hmm, you like that?"

Suddenly, Draco went down on Harry like a plane goes down when a terrorist bombs it. I mean, he went down really fast, on Harry's cock no less. Harry was somehow erect after getting bitten in the neck and the blood sucked out of him by a childhood enemy, and his erection was probably 8 or 9 or a million inches long. And really thick. Draco moaned as he chowed down on Harry's man meat, his lips wrapped around it like a snake around a helpless gerbil. Harry suddenly realized that he was gay and that he harbored deep and passionate feelings for Draco. So he let Draco continue, hoping to eventually spooge with this guy.

Harry started humping Draco's face, like a dog on its master's leg, while Draco bobbed up and down, up and down, up and down times a hundred. They were both really really hot and their muscles rippled and it was so sweet that they were both the age of consent. But they didn't need laws because they were in love and right then Draco was mouthfucking Harry's enormous pole. Harry's balls swung back and forth, hitting Draco in the chin hard enough to give him a serious case of chin bruise. Also, Draco had retracted his fangs right beforehand so he wouldn't accidentally bite Harry's dick off.

Draco then came up for air, looking at Harry with so much lust and then hoisting his legs high enough into the air to be seen from space. Harry's ass, which was perfectly round and waxed, winked at Draco as Draco thrust his equally ginormous cock into his lover's sweet ass. Harry moaned out in pleasure from having his virgin ass drilled without any lube, cause it's better that way, and he wrapped his legs around Draco like a porn star who knows she's on camera. They began fucking, and I mean FUCKING, wildly. Their hips bucked back and forth, playing tug-of-sex-war with Harry's ass while Draco just fucking impaled him.

"Oh my god," Harry exclaimed, "I feel like Jesus!"

"If Jesus were a gay wizard." Draco replied, grinning.

Then, in an act of ultimate hotness, Harry flipped Draco on his back as he took charge and started fucking Draco. Draco's ass was not as nice as Harry's, but it was red and sore from all the spankings that I forgot to say also happened a minute ago. Harry didn't fuck as hard or heatedly, but his rod was now even bigger, maybe even as big as a horse. He ripped through Harry like a kid through Christmas presents and felt his legs begin to tremble.

"I—I'm going to …!" Harry whimpered and cried out in heat.

"No!" Draco said in between breaths, "Don't pee in my butt!"

Harry starting cumming.

"Oh." Draco said in relief.

Harry came again and again, blasting Draco's ass with a gallon of man-milk until it started flowing out and getting all over everything. Harry just came and came, his cock acting as a gateway between the wizarding world and a world where everything is fucking drenched in sperm.

The boys panted as their orgasms subsided (Draco came too) and Harry collapsed over his lover's body.

"Mmm," Draco said, though Harry didn't understand what was so special about the letter _m_. "That was fantastic."

The sun peaked over the mountain range in the distance, though not nearly enough to illuminate the land. It was still decidedly dark outside, but not for long. Wild owls joined the crickets in their proclamation, giving voice to the night. The wind quickened then quieted, as if counting down the minutes until it would be a new day.

Not far from Diagon Alley lay a relatively peaceful neighborhood, houses and apartments constructed no more than a few years ago, bHappy ut very much in the rustic style of their older counterparts. Alone in one apartment slept a girl, her hair as distinctly red as her siblings, though now she lived alone. She slept soundly and peacefully, her dreams giving way to visions of the past and a brighter future. She smiled, unconsciously pulling her hand-me-down blanket over her tighter. Without warning, a knock sounded at her door. Sleepily, she awakened and fumbled to find a light. Holding her robe tightly around her, she stood up and slowly made her way toward the door. Cautiously peering outside first, she smiled brightly as she saw Harry, though he smile faded as an equally familiar—yet unequivocally irksome—face came into view. She reached for the door handle, opening the door. She kept her eyes fixed on her boyfriend, resolving to talk only with him.

"Hello, Ginny." Draco said, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

Ginny nodded politely to the boy, looking back to Harry, waiting for an explanation to the early awakening. She noticed that he was looking a bit pale.

"Well," Harry said, "aren't you going to invite us in?"


End file.
